The Demigod's Wars
by Bradykins98
Summary: Demigods have fought in wars throughout history. Some have been generals, leaders, those who lead others to victory. Others heroes, who inspired others to great acts. But what about the ordinary ones. The ones who fought on the front line, and took the brunt of the fighting. The ones who bled out on countless battlefields, who fought, and killed, and died for the men next to them.


The Demigod's Wars

**A/N 1:These are not stories of heroism. These are not stories to inspire others, or scare them. These are definitely not adventure stories, despite the description; for war is anything but an adventure. These are meerly stories of how men, and boys, and women, survived, or didn't survive, some of the 'greatest' wars in history. These are the ordinary man's stories, not the heroes, or the general, or the legends. These are the stories of the demigod's wars. **

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Chapter 1: Centurion

_Percy was bored. He'd spent the entire day at the archery range, for some reason trying to improve his skills with a bow. Of course, he'd failed miserably, just like every other time he'd tried. After he'd fired his fiftieth arrow, which miraculously hit the target, but only at the circles edge, he saw out of the corner of his eye another arrow hit the target in the direct centre, a perfect bulls-eye. He turned to see the firer. Trust it to be Chiron._

"_Percy, come with me, I have to show you something." He ordered, before slinging his bow and cantering off._

"_But Chiron…" Percy moaned, knowing that he was probably in trouble._

"_Perseus Jackson, both you and I know that you will never become a skilled archer. So stop wasting your time and come with me now!" Chiron snapped at him. Percy, surprised by this outburst, shrugged his shoulders and followed him._

_They ended up in the Big House. "This is the records room, where there are tales of demigods dating back to your namesake." Chiron explained. Percy was even more bored that he was before now. "I can tell you're bored, but I want you to know who you're ancestors were. So please try to pay attention." Chiron told him with a sigh._

_ "You know that demigods throughout history have fought in wars, yes?" Chiron asked. Percy nodded. Of course he knew that, George Washington, Abraham Lincoln and Dwight Eisenhower to name a few. "Well, today you'll learn about a man called Scipio Quintus. He was a son of Apollo, and was a centurion in the famous Legion IX, or the Ninth Legion."_

_He handed Percy a file and continued. "Do you know why the Ninth Legion is famous, Percy?" Said demigod shook his head, but was now a lot more interested in what he had to say. "Well, they went further than anyone had ever gone before into Scotland, which was never conquered by the Romans. But they never came back. To this day, no one knows what happened to the Ninth Legion. Well, no mortal, anyway. Now go, and read up, I want you to tell Scipio's story tonight at dinner." Percy sighed with disappointment, and walked towards his cabin. He had a lot of reading to do._

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Scipio was scared. As the most powerful son of Apollo for a century, and a veteran centurion of the mighty Roman army, this was a rare feeling for him. All around he could hear screaming, horrible curses and vile threats from the forest surrounding his legionnaires.

"Lock shields! Lock shields and let none through!" He bellowed over the raucous din of the coming battle. His men followed his command with incredible discipline, each man showing no fear outwardly, despite the incredible odds against them. He drew his cavalry sword, a longer blade than the standard gladius, a gift from his father after he defeated the Chimera as a boy. His grip was sweaty and tight. It was his only weapon, which was a blessing for long marches, but horrible in battle, as the standard Legionnaire had a gladius, a dagger, and two javelins, as well as a shield.

The barbarians came a little before dawn. There were hundreds of them, if not thousands, pouring out of the woods like a wildfire. For all Scipio knew, his was the only century left out of the five hundred in the legion, judging by the screams of agony he was forced to listen to during the night.

Soon enough, the familiar sounds of battle commenced; the clang of steel on steel, the screams of the dying and the roars of anger. A massive brute of a man charged towards Scipio, an axe raised above his head in a downward sweep. He sidestepped the attack, and decapitated the giant with a swing of his sword. He felt hot crimson blood on his face, which he wiped off and carried on fighting.

For every man they killed, ten more stepped forward. It was like fighting the hydra, Scipio mused. After about an hour and a half of brutal fighting, Scipio was one of a dozen left. In his right hand, he had his sword, stained bloody with the life-source of at least twenty barbarians. In his left, he held the Legion's eagle, their sacred battle standard. He could not let it fall.

He turned to Marcus Dias, the youngest and fastest Legionnaire left, and handed him the eagle. A child of Hermes, Marcus was swifter than any dog on his feet. "Marcus, take the eagle, get it back to Eboracum, make sure it's safe. We'll make a hole for you." He ordered, knowing that he was sacrificing himself to do so. Marcus looked shocked.

"But centurion…" He drifted off, knowing what Scipio was doing.

"No buts, Marcus. You have your father's feet. Get the eagle back, and the legion can be remade. Without the eagle, Legion IX will be no more." He had a dangerous edge to his voice now. He would rather die than see the legion destroyed. And die he would. Marcus nodded in agreement. "Everyone else, wedge formation. We're making a hole for the eagle, from this moment onwards, no step backwards. Understood?" He ordered. The clang of swords on breastplates gave him the answer he needed. "Romans! Tonight, we dine in Tartarus!" He roared, then turned around and charged the massive Pict army.

The small twelve-man wedge moved as one, hacking slashing, biting, kicking, smashing and doing any and everything they could to get through. The barbarians faltered at this display of ferocity, and their resolve broke. Many turned and fled, but most stood their ground, albeit nervously, not wanting to be hacked to pieces. Scipio was covered from head to toe in blood and dirt. He loped an arm of a sword-wielding berserker, and continued running. They broke through after roughly ten minutes, they broke through the horde. Marcus burst from the centre of the wedge, and sprinted away, carrying the legion's only hope of survival. The remaining Romans turned and faced the enemy for one last time.

They never stepped backwards, not when Marcellus' neck was pierced by an arrow, and he slowly bled to death. Not when Agrippa missed a parry, and was punished by a spear through his chest. Not when it was only Scipio left standing, his sword heavy, and two arrows sticking out of his chest. They followed his order until their last breath, just like a good Roman should. One last war cry, one last prayer to his father, and Scipio Quintus charged for one last time. He died with his sword buried in an enemy's chest, choking another with his free hand, his father's name on his lips.

* * *

"_And that was the story of Scipio Quintus, son of Apollo. Thank you for listening." Percy finished his tale. He was amazed by Scipio's story, and had enjoyed sharing it, much to his surprise. He was met with a massive round of applause. Later, Annabeth kissed him tenderly._

"_Nice job Seeweed Brain." She said before kissing him again._

"_Thanks Wise Girl." He replied between kisses. She broke off the kiss, much to his disappointment._

"_So, what happened to Marcus? Was the legion ever rebuilt?" She asked him, her grey eyes sparkling with interest. Percy looked down in shame._

"_Well, you see, the Ninth Legion never was remade. The Emperor thought it was an embarrassment that a mighty Roman legion was defeated, and that it might inspire others to rise up. So he covered it up. Said their fate was unknown. Marcus was given the eagle and told never to reveal what happened in Scotland. He died aged sixty-six, with a wife and nine children." He answered quietly, so only his girlfriend could hear. She looked shocked by this._

"_Oh my gods Percy, that's terrible. So Scipio died for nothing."_

"_Well, I wouldn't say that." Replied a voice from behind the couple. Percy instinctively drew Riptide, holding it at the unknown person. He stepped out from the shadows._

_The man was ghostly pale, and wearing roman style armour. He had two arrows sticking out of his chest, and at least a dozen stab wounds on his body. His face had patrician good looks, and his hair was cut brutally short. "I'd say I died for a cause I believed in, that of the good of Rome. The emperor saw fit that it would be covered up, and to be honest I agree." Said the ghostly roman, "At least I bought Marcus some valuable time, and because of my sacrifice, he was able to grow old and die peacefully." The strange man was smiling faintly to himself. "Nice job with telling my story by the way, glad to see someone remembers me." He then said before simply fading away._

_Percy and Annabeth looked at each other, both bewildered by what just happened._

"_Annabeth, you're smart." Percy said dumbfounded, "What in Hades just happened?"_

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**A/N 2: Hi, me again. ****And me too.**** Shut up Mr Hyde, no one likes you. ****Meh, I like it that way.**** Anyway, I've meant to do this for a while. Basically I'm going to do a load of one-shots based on demigods in famous wars. Some might get a little Die-Hard-ish, but meh. Please review and give constructive criticism, it means a lot. Bradykins ****and Mr Hyde**** shut up, get out of my sentence. ****Whose mean now****. Quiet fool, I control this body. This was originally a one-shot, but I've decided to turn them all into a series, to make it easier to manage. Who gets my 300 reference as well?! Anyway, Bradykins out.**


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